He squirms under fallen branches
leaps over toppled trees
his gills burning as he hurdles
over boulders his hump

slicing the water as eagles'
talons like trawling hooks
skim the surface

all while females at the run's
end scoop redds
in the riffle
dropping their roe
in pebbled shallows

no thought of turning back
not even after the milky
clouds have settled
his mouth gaping

lost in a fog
of senescence drifting
slowly, everywhere bumping
against the lifeless

V2:Salmon Run

He writhes under fallen branches,
leaps over toppled trees,
his gills burning as he hurdles
over boulders,
his hump slicing the water
as eagles' talons, like trawling hooks,
skim the surface,
and as females at the run's end
scoop redds
in the riffle,
dropping their roe
in pebbled shallows,
he gives no thought of turning around
not even after the milky clouds
have settled,
his mouth gaping,
and him lost in a fog of senescence,
drifting slowly, everywhere--
bumping against him--
the dead.

V1:
Salmon Run

Writhing under fallen branches,
leaping over toppled trees,
his gills burning as he hurdles
over boulders,
he barrels ahead
his hump slicing the water
as eagles' talons, like trawling hooks,
skim the surface--
but with girls at the run's' end
scooping redds
in the riffle,
dropping their roe
in turbulent shallows,
he gives no thought of turning around
not even after the milky clouds
have settled,
his mouth gaping,
and him lost in a fog of senescence,
drifting slowly, everywhere--
bumping against him--
the dead.